Captive
by denise1
Summary: When a member of the SGC goes missing, can they get him home or will he be a captive forever?


Captive

By

Denise

February 4

Major Warren Masters tied the laces on his boots and stood up; his hand going to his pocket to make sure his ID card was still there. It definitely would not look good for him to make it all the way to the front gate only to have to turn back and be late, or even worse, having to call down and be escorted in.

He walked out of the bedroom, cursing under his breath as he turned first to his left, the memories of the house they'd just moved out of two months ago still ruling his unconscious movements. This place was larger than the apartment they'd left behind in Los Angeles, the difference in real estate prices meaning that the same amount of money he and Sheila had spent on a two bedroom apartment now got them a roomy bungalow complete with a handkerchief sized lawn and even their own garage.

"Warren, you're going to be late!" Sheila called up the stairs. "It looks like rain and you know how horrible traffic is when it rains."

"Yes, dear," he called back, knowing that it annoyed her. He was glad that he'd gotten this posting, in more ways than one. Not only was the SGC a plum assignment, but the Colorado Springs area also had some fabulous opportunities for Sheila as well, her training as a graphic artist leading to her finding no shortage of free lance work she could do for various companies. And best of all, she was able to work out of the home.

"You dear me one more time you're gonna reacquaint yourself with the couch," she teased as he walked into the kitchen.

"Yes d…." he said, stopping when she shot him a cold look. He abandoned his teasing, instead planting a kiss on her cheek as he reached around her, his hands unerringly finding the coffeepot. Pouring himself a cup, he sat at the small dining room table. "You know I'm going to be out of touch for a few days," he reminded.

"Yes," she said, refreshing her mug and joining him. "You've told me three times already. Communications black out. If something happens, leave a message at the number and they'll get it to you as soon as they can," she parroted back.  "Don't worry about it. I've got three new commissions to do. I probably won't even notice you're gone."

He acted hurt. "You wound me," he laughed. He took a quick glance at his watch and gulped the last of his coffee, wincing as it burned his tongue a bit. "I'm gonna be late," he said, pushing up from the table. Leaning over, he gave her a kiss, tasting the sweetness of the sugar she'd put in her coffee on her tongue. "See ya in three days," he said.

"Love you," she nodded.

"Don't have too much fun while I'm gone," he said, reaching for his car keys.

"Damn," she cursed, following him to the back door. "Gonna have to cancel that orgy."

He rolled his eyes, getting into his car. Waving out the window, he put the vehicle into reverse and backed out onto the street. He and the rest of SG-16 were scheduled to ship out in three hours, and he couldn't be late.

One of these days, he thought, one of these days he'd be able to take Sheila into work with him and show her exactly what he did each day. One of these days she'd understand exactly why he found most sci-fi movies so silly. And one of these days she'd get the joke behind the Roswell gray key chain he'd just had to buy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

February 11

"What have we got?" Jack demanded, hurrying into the control room.

"SG-16 was scheduled to return two hours ago, sir," Davis reported.

"When they didn't come back, we send a MALP through," Sam interrupted. "It showed this." She pushed a button on the console and a video played. Jack watched the camera pan down, revealing footprints in the soft soil around the gate.

"That what I think it is?"

"Yes, sir. I had Teal'c confirm it. Jaffa boots. He can only guess that there's about a dozen and he can't tell if they've left the planet or not."

Jack nodded grimly, knowing the odds. If those men were still on the planet, they stood a chance. If not…the universe was one hell of a big place. They couldn't mount a rescue if they had no idea where to look.

The stairs clanged and Jack looked up to see the general descending towards them. "Sir?"

"SG-3's gearing up right now," the general said. "They ship out in twenty minutes."

Jack looked to Sam who nodded. "SG-1 would like to go too, sir."

"I thought as much," the general said. "Teal'c is getting ready. We'll hold the gate open from this end. If they're still on the planet, hopefully we can keep them there."

Sam got to her feet, following Jack as he hurried to their locker room. Quickly gearing up, they met Teal'c at the armory, the three of them efficiently gathering their armaments. They were between new team members at the moment, still not having chosen a permanent replacement for Daniel, so it'd just be the three of them joining the Marines. Jack rather preferred it this way. The situation they were going into was uncertain enough without having to deal with the unknown variable of a 'new guy'.

Ten minutes later they were in the gateroom, meeting up with Colonel Franks and his men. "Colonel," he Marine leader acknowledged.

Jack shook his head. "It's your mission, Franks. We're just here for back up," he said, setting the chain of command.

The man nodded, accepting Jack's parameters. "Ok, you jarheads, let's go bail out the fly boys," he ordered to his men, ushering them up the ramp.

Jack shot his team a look as SG-3 walked up the ramp and through the gate. "Marines," he muttered. "Let's go."

He walked up the ramp, Sam and Teal'c at his side. They walked through the gate, immediately separating and seeking cover as they exited the wormhole on P4X398. One quick glance showed that SG-3 had the immediate area secured. Teal'c stepped forward, kneeling to get a better look at the tracks. "Some of the Jaffa have left the planet, however some have not," he reported. "That way," he directed, pointing with his staff weapon.

"Marshall, Simpson, secure the gate," Franks ordered. The remaining five people fell into step, Teal'c leading the way with the rest following him.

They'd walked for about an hour when the hair on the back of Jack's neck started to rise. He raised his gun, straining his senses. It was almost a relief when Teal'c raised his hand, signaling for the group to halt. Jack made his way forward, Franks following suit, leaving Carter and Williamson to watch their six. He sighed when he saw the bodies lying in the clearing, both human and Jaffa. "That explains why more came than left," Jack whispered.

"Why are the Jaffa there?" Franks asked.

"A warrior's body is merely a shell. Once the spirit is gone, the body matters not," Teal'c said. "Any survivors would have retrieved the symbiotes and left the corpses behind.

"Trap?" Jack asked, scanning the area for any sign of other Jaffa.

"That is highly unlikely," Teal'c said. "Not given the number of tracks we saw returning through the gate.

Franks sighed heavily. "Let's get them home then," he said.

Jack and Teal'c agreed. Signaling for Sam and Williamson to remain behind and cover them, they got to their feet and slowly made their way forward, their minds set upon the grim task before them.

Jack knelt over one of the men, checking for a pulse although the pallor of the man's face told him it was a futile task. Letting his weapon hang, he bent over, struggling a bit to get to his feet burdened by the dead weight of the man.

"O'Neill," Teal'c called. "This one lives," The Jaffa reported, having a far easier time hefting the man.

"Franks?" Jack called.

"Dead, sir," the colonel reported. "And we're one short."

"Teal'c?" Jack asked.

"I do not know, O'Neill," he said. "Sargent Waters is severely injured. He needs medical assistance immediately," he said, referring to the man he was carrying.

"Colonel?" Franks asked, seeking Jack's counsel.

Jack thought for a moment, desperately not wanting to abandon one of their own, but also not wanting to add to the death toll by wasting time searching for something that might not be there to find. "We'll go back to the SGC, get Waters to Fraiser and come back," he decided, hoping like hell that he wasn't making a mistake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Major General George Hammond closed the report, his heavy sigh echoing off the walls. He'd been in this situation so many times before, but it never got any easier. After SG-1 and 3 had returned from the planet, they'd sent back a UAV and a search team, looking for the last member of SG-16. They'd found nothing, and he didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

He'd seen it happen in battle, the armaments used to destroy structures were also capable of wreaking havoc on a human body. More than once in Nam, he'd literally seen a man blown to bits and knew that the phrase had a horrific basis in reality. So by not finding a body, it was possible that Masters had been killed. It was also just as possible that he could be alive somehow.

Being alive wasn't necessarily good. If he'd survived the battle, chances are the Jaffa had captured him. George had no illusions about the man's fate.  Best-case scenario, he'd die quickly, maybe before he survived weeks or months of torture, a goa'uld inflicting pain upon the man to gain useless knowledge.

Every iris code ever assigned to Masters had been locked out of the system, even if the man broke, he would be unable to betray Earth. George knew that the existence of the iris was well known among the Goa'uld, and that its impenetrability was legendary. But he also knew that they never stopped trying to breach it.

There was one possible outcome that he didn't want to even consider…that the man would become a host. It was a risk, one every single member of the SGC faced every time they stepped through that gate. A risk that had visited itself up on the SGC twice in the program's existence, three times if he counted Sarah Gardner's possession by Osiris.

So far, only one case of possession by a goa'uld had turned out positively, that being the case of Carter's possession by Jolinar. 

He reached for the phone, dialing a number he knew all too well. A part of him wanted to wait, to hold off on the notification until they knew something definitive. But another part of him knew the peace that could come with closure.  "Yes, this is General Hammond with Project Bluebook. I need a notification," he said when the familiar voice answered the phone. He rattled off the address and name of the next of kin, grateful at least that there were no children mentioned in the file. "A training accident," he said, answering the woman's questions, knowing by the tone of her voice that she recognized a cover story when she heard it.

He finished giving her the details and hung up the phone. "Training accident," he muttered bitterly, pushing down the self-disgust he felt. This was the part he hated the most about 'top secret'. These brave men and women were laying their lives on the line for their country, and no one would ever know that they died heroes, just that they died.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sheila Masters parked her car, reaching to grab the plastic sacks from the passenger seat. She counted her lucky stars that Warren hadn't made it home yet, it gave her a chance to get her purchases inside and safely stashed away. She certainly hadn't enjoyed her husband's absence in the last week, but she was definitely going to make sure his homecoming was something he'd remember. With Valentine's Day just a couple of days away, she planned to thoroughly enjoy his downtime.

She made her way to the front door, struggling a bit, juggling her keys and her purchases. Succeeding in getting the key into the lock she opened the door, her attention diverted by the slamming of two car doors.

An uneasy feeling creeping up her spine, she turned, her heart lurching when her eyes settled on a non-decrepit blue sedan and the two uniformed men walking towards her.

Like a deer in the headlights, she stared at the men, desperately hoping that they would turn and go back to their car, or veer off, visiting one of her neighbors. They did neither and her arms dropped, the bags falling unheeded to the ground, some of their contents spilling out.

"Mrs. Warren Masters?" one of them asked, walking up to her. The other officer knelt down, efficiently picking up her shopping.

"Is he dead?" she asked, oddly surprised at how calm she felt. This wasn't real; it was all a dream, a horrible, horrible dream.

"Why don't we go inside, Mrs. Masters," he suggested.

"Just tell me, is he dead?" she demanded.

The man, a chaplain she noted, looked to his companion. The other man shrugged, the looks on their faces telling her all she needed to know. "You better come in then," she said, her voice calm.  She led them into the house, turning to take the bags from the one man, a major she noted.

Setting her shopping down on the floor she sat on the couch, motioning for them to also take a seat. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Mrs. Masters….yes," the chaplain said.

"How?"

"It was a training accident."

She nodded. Oddly enough, it made a sort of sense. Training. That explained why he was out of contact so often. It'd been the same way during basic training; she'd not talk to him for weeks. "What happened?" she asked, dreading knowing, but compelled to know. Dozens of nightmarish images flooded her brain, horrible things that could happen to a person.

"I'm sorry, that's classified," the major said. Walker, she noted, reading his nametag for the first time.

She nodded again, oddly not surprised by his answer. "When do I…How do…I've never planned a funeral before," she admitted, feeling overwhelmed. Never planned one, hell, she'd only been to three in her life, and she'd been a kid for all of them. Neither she or Warren had a large family, his mother the only parent either of them had left. That was one thing they'd bonded over, the lack of family.

"Is there someone we can call for you," Major Walker offered. "A family member, friends?"

"No. His mother, but she's in Florida, we just…we just moved here last month. I don't really know anyone." She needed to call people, her mother in law…did she know yet? She'd have tried to call but she hadn't even checked her messages.

She and Warren weren't very religious, she didn't know if they had to be a member of a church to have a funeral. Or would anyone even come? She didn't know where they'd bury him; they'd never even talked about that.

"Ma'am?"

She looked up, startled to realize that she'd zoned out a bit. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't…I don't know what to do," she admitted.

The chaplain's face softened and he leaned forward a bit, reaching out to take her hand. "Unfortunately, we've done this too many times. If you'd allow us, we'd be honored to plan the ceremony for you."

Fighting the sudden tears welling up in her eyes, she simply nodded, more than willing to accept his gesture of help.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The heavy whump of a staff weapon shattered the stillness of the planet. Simpson cried out, falling to the ground, barely visible among the tall grass. The rest of them dropped to their bellies, seeking what shelter and cover the grass could give them. They were in the middle of a clearing, sitting ducks.

_"FRANKIE!" Waters cried, moving to help his friend. A staff blast struck him in the chest and he fell on top of Simpson._

_Kerry Singh moved, putting his back to Warren's. "Where the hell did they come from?"_

_"I don't know," Warren answered, changing his clip. "Hold your fire until they're close," he said, quickly taking inventory. Three clips, two more for his pistol._

_"Too many of them," Singh gasped out, squeezing off a few rounds. Warren scanned the treeline. He was right. There were too many. The trees were alive with movement, staff blasts coming from every direction. _

_Setting his jaw, Warren fired, gaining no little satisfaction from the tinging sound of his rounds striking the oncoming Jaffa. If he was going to die, he was going to take as many of them as he could with him._

February 14th

A shuddering jolt pulled Warren from his dream, dragging his attention back to the present. He instinctively put out his hand to steady himself, although it was more for his pride than any real need. His cell had no furnishings, just a plain cold floor with a grate in the corner for his sanitary needs. Roughly once a day a guard came to the door and tossed in some sort of ration cake and a container of water.

They evidently wanted him alive, even if healthy seemed to be optional. He shifted position, trying to ease the strain on his injured leg. It was infected, he knew. He could feel it, the growing pain and burning sensation. The fever was setting in; he could feel the chills wracking his body, the cold sweat on his spine. 

He didn't know why he was still alive, why they hadn't finished him off back on the planet. The rest were dead, he was sure. He remembered Singh's last seconds, the heavy force of the man falling backwards knocking him forward, pushing him to the ground at the same instant he took a shot in the leg.

The combination of the two assaults rendered him semi-conscious, and easy picking for the Jaffa. He barely remembered them picking him up, dragging him away from the rest of his team and through the stargate. They hadn't done much to him, just stripped him of his weapons and supplies before throwing him into a cell.  He didn't know what to expect, this whole situation was bizarre. There weren't supposed to have been any Jaffa on the planet. And he still didn't know why they'd taken him alive instead of killing him on sight. And he didn't understand why they weren't torturing him for information. Not that he minded, but it made no sense. The Jaffa weren't behaving like the Jaffa he'd been briefed about.

He heard a noise outside the door and he tensed, his heart quickening in his chest. The door opened and two of the alien warriors strode into the room, making a beeline to him. They each grabbed an arm, pulling him to his feet, ignoring his groan of pain. Lacking the strength to fight, he let them drag him down the corridors, the movement making him distinctly nauseous.

They took him to a room with a ring decorating the floor and dropped him, not caring when his face smashed into the floor. Before he could really move he heard an odd whine and stared as part of the floor vanished, rings sweeping up and a bright light making his eyes hurt.

He buried his head in his arms and fought the urge to pass out. The next thing he knew, rough hands grabbed his arms, again dragging him out of the room and down another corridor. He fought to raise his head, barely comprehending that he was on another ship. The walls were similar but not the same.

They dragged him through ceaseless corridors, finally reaching their destination. They dropped him on the floor and stepped back. Focusing on a pair of booted feet, he laboriously pulled his arms under his chest, pushing himself up.

He was lying before a gilded throne; a leather clad female lounged in the seat. She frowned slightly as she studied him, her long reddish hair sliding over pale, exposed shoulders. He tried to think who it could be, struggling to sort through hours of briefings. "Tau'ri," she finally said, slowly getting to her feet.  She walked over to him, staring at him appraisingly. "A pathetic specimen," she said, circling him so closely that the edges of her skirt brushed his hands.

"The rest did not survive, my Queen," one of the Jaffa said.

"Pity," she drawled, mending down to push his hat off his head, grasping his chin with bruising force and making him look up. "Although he does possess attractive eyes." She released him and he fell back to the floor with a grunt. "He'll do," she decreed.

Warren felt hands upon his back again, but instead of picking him up, they instead held him down. He heard the snick of a knife sliding out of its sheath and his heart stopped, expecting a killing blow. Instead the cold blade slid down his back, tearing through the tough material of his stained fatigues. Hands pulled the ruined clothing back, bearing his skin.

"You are indeed fortunate that you did not perish with your friends," the Goa'uld said, moving to stand just within his limited field of vision. Another pair of larger boots joined her and he heard a sickening sucking sound.

"No," he choked out; suddenly knowing what was to come. "Please, God, no."

"If you only understood the gift you were about to receive, you would have no fear," she said, as he felt the cold weight of a symbiote upon his bare skin. "Join me, my Tau'ri, and together we shall rule forever," she said, her words drowned out by his terrified scream of fear and pain as the symbiote tore into his back forcing its way into his body and his mind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

August 4th

Jack made his way up to the front of the teltac, unable to suppress the grin that split his face as Earth came into view. Finally. He'd only been dreaming about this day for a month. He rubbed his hands together, fighting the urge to push the Tok'ra out of the seat and see if he could get the ship to land any faster. Right down there on that pretty blue and white globe was the object of many a fantasy over the past month. Hot water, clean clothes, food, beer, a bed…all the comforts of home.

"You do remember that stealth thingie, right?" he asked, ignoring the puzzled look the Tok'ra pilot shot him over his shoulder.

"Yes," the Tok'ra replied. "We are well aware of the requirements of landing on Earth."

"Yeah, well. I'm just not in the mood to have anything get between me and some dreadfully overdue down time, especially the ream of paper work an 'alien incursion' would create," Jack said, glancing back into the cargo compartment, wishing someone else was there.

For the hundredth time, Jack wondered where his team was. Yeah, ok, so it'd been sort of a long shot that they'd find him and Harry, but he'd at least expected some sort of interest, someone from Earth to be in the rescue party.

Instead, all he'd gotten had been the Tok'ra Jalen. The man had rescued he and Harry, not even questioning Jack's request that Harry be dropped off somewhere before setting course for Earth.

He'd avoided all Jack's questions about the location of the rest of SG-1, never saying more than they were on a mission.

"I understand there is a specific location where I am supposed to land?" Jalen asked.

"Umm…yeah. I'm not sure," Jack said, trying to remember protocol. They seemed to alternate between Nellis and Peterson.  Jack glanced down, cringing a bit at his appearance. Considering he didn't have any ID on him and that he looked like a beach bum, closer was definitely better. "I need to contact the SGC," he said. "Get permission for us to land."

Jalen nodded, pressing a few buttons on the console. "Stargate Command, this is Jalen."

"We read you Jalen," Jack heard Davis say.

"I have Colonel O'Neill with me."

"Davis," Jack interrupted. "Can you get Hammond to get us permission to land at Peterson? And a ride to the SGC."

"Colonel, O'Neill, glad to hear your voice, sir," Davis said.

Jack heard some murmured conversation in the background and looked to Jalen, shrugging helplessly.

"Jack, glad to hear you're back," Hammond said.

"Not as glad as I am, General," Jack replied.

"You're cleared to set down on runway 19," Hammond instructed. "I've sent a staff car to come get you and Jalen. It should be there in about half an hour."

"Regretfully, I must decline," Jalen spoke up. "We are needed elsewhere."

"As you wish, Jalen. Please convey my thanks to the Tok'ra council for their assistance," Hammond said.

"I will, General Hammond." Jalen severed the communications link and busied himself navigating his way through the junk in Earth's orbit. Within a few minutes, following Jack's directions to Colorado Springs, the teltac set down on the end of the runway.

Sensing the man's urgency to get on his way, Jack quickly gathered what few belongings he had with him and exited the ship; relieved to see a familiar blue sedan headed his way. Impulsively, he stuck out his thumb, hearing and feeling the teltac lifting off behind him. The sedan eased to a halt and Siler quickly got out, making his way to the passenger door. "Colonel O'Neill, sir."

"Siler. What's up?" Jack replied, frowning when he realized the man was alone.

"They're on a mission, sir," Siler explained.

"What?" Jack got into the seat, reaching for the seatbelt.

"The rest of SG-1, sir. They wanted to go along, but something came up."

"What kind of mission?"

"I don't know all the details, sir. All I know is that four days ago the Tok'ra picked them up. They were going to drop them off somewhere, then go and get you and Colonel Maybourne, assuming you were still…there," he said.

Jack stayed silent for most of the drive, not protesting when Siler turned on the radio to try and fill the void. He also didn't say anything when the sergeant surreptitiously rolled down the window, allowing cool fresh air to spill into the car.

He knew he shouldn't feel hurt that his team had gone on a mission without him. What had he expected, after all? For the world to come to a screeching halt for the last month?

It did, however, reinforce that worthless feeling he had, the stark realization that the end of his usefulness was drawing near, that sooner or later the day would come when one washed up old colonel wasn't worth messing with.

Siler pulled up outside the entrance to the mountain, putting the car into park and pulling the key. "I can escort you through security, sir," he offered. "Then General Hammond said you should clear medical first, clean up and get something to eat before you report in," he said.

"Thanks," Jack said, knowing full well that his little sojourn hadn't exactly been full of urgent strategic information and that his report to Hammond was more of a technicality than a necessity.

Figuring he should try not to offend Fraiser any more than he usually did, he made a beeline to the locker room, lingering in the shower. He got dressed, noting that his pants were a lot looser than when he'd left. There was something he could market out of this whole thing, the latest diet fad. Maroon someone on a deserted planet and see how much weight they could lose.

Resigning himself to a lecture about his weight, or lack thereof, he made his way to the infirmary.

"Colonel." Fraiser's voice greeted him as soon as he walked in. "I heard you were back," she said conversationally.

She motioned towards one of the beds and Jack hopped up, reaching to unbutton his shirt.  "I thought I'd hit the showers first."

"That was very considerate of you, sir," she said, smiling knowingly. She reached into a small closet and pulled out a gown. "Maybe you'd like to change into this," she suggested.

Jack sighed. "Doc, I'm fine. The Tok'ra fixed my leg. I'm just a little hungry and a lot tired."

"You know it's procedure, sir." She turned, pulling the curtains to grant him some privacy.

Knowing he couldn't win, he started to undress. "Siler said SG-1 was on a mission," he said, fishing for information.

"I don't know where they are, sir," she said. He reached out and pulled the curtain back, towering over her even in his bare feet. "All I know is that Jacob came, he needed Sam and the rest for some sort of covert mission. They left four days ago."

"When are they due back?"

"When we see them," she said pulling her stethoscope from around her neck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

August 5th

Sam Carter walked down the ramp, her relief at being home warring with the dread she felt knowing just how much fun the grapevine was going to have with them this time. "Welcome back, SG-1," Hammond said, walking into the gate room. He scanned the group. "I take it your mission wasn't quite a success."

"No, sir," Sam answered, glancing at the other three people with her. Teal'c was silent, as usual and Jonas apparently noted the mood, keeping his opinions to himself for the time being. Of course, she also wondered if the Kelownan was having as much fun in his disguise as she was in hers.

"Sorry, George, it didn't work out," Jacob said.

"Briefing room," Hammond ordered and the quartet followed him, each taking their seats around the table.

"What happened?"

"We successfully infiltrated Morrigan's compound," Sam reported, taking a moment to pull the red wig she'd been wearing off her head, the relief at losing the item making her not really care if her normal hair looked good or not. "The Tok'ra intelligence was right, Masters was there."

"We just didn't have all the details right," Jacob said.

"Major Masters was not a prisoner," Teal'c said.

"He was her consort," Jonas said, making a face.

"Jack," Hammond interrupted. "Come on in," he invited.

"Colonel," Sam said, getting to her feet. "You're back."

"And so are you," he quipped, walking into the room and claiming a chair. "Although it looks like you had more fun than I did." He studied all of them, taking in their costumes. Teal'c was wearing his normal Jaffa armor, although his normal golden tattoo was covered up with skin-toned makeup, disguising it a bit.

Jonas was wearing a snug fitting leather outfit, the vest displaying more chest than it covered. Sam also had a tight fitting leather outfit on, the cat suit definitely looking Goa'uld in origin.

"Depends on how you define fun, Jack," Jacob said.

"Right as we figured out where you and Maybourne had been taken, Jacob arrived with word of a possible Tau'ri prisoner," George said.

"Who?" Jack asked.

"Major Warren Masters," Sam said. "He was MIA presumed KIA six months ago on P4X398."

"Masters…SG-16 right?" Jack said. "We did the rescue, brought back one survivor."

"Indeed, O'Neill."

"It turns out he wasn't killed," Jacob said. "The Jaffa they ran into were renegades. They captured Masters and sold him to the highest bidder, in this instance Morrigan."

"So, what? He's been her prisoner?"

"In a manner of speaking," Jacob said.

"He was her consort, O'Neill."

"Consort…as in…"

"In the biblical sense, sir," Sam said.

Jacob nodded his head and Selmac came to the front. "Among Goa'uld it is not uncommon for one to take the slaves of another as a host for one of their offspring. In doing so, the Goa'uld  not only scores a strategic victory in gaining the information contained in the host, but an emotional and symbolic victory as well." 

"Imagine the PR victory if Yu's lotar became Morrigan's mate," Sam said.

"This is likely why Masters was not killed on sight," Selmac said. "We have heard rumors of the Goa'uld   putting out bounties on not only members of SG-1 in particular but members of the Tau'ri in general."

"If every member of this command has a price on their head, why didn't you tell us?" Jack asked.

"He did, colonel," Hammond said. "Word came through right after you…left," he explained, referring to Jack's month spent on an alien moon.

"Anyway," Sam said, after a second of awkward silence. "The Tok'ra sent word that they'd found Major Masters in Morrigan's palace. And Morrigan was away at the moment, checking on some of her outer holdings."

"Over the years, the Tok'ra have created a large number of personas for our operatives to adopt. In this case Sam became Delia, a minor goa'uld, Jonas was her lotar and Teal'c her Jaffa. The plan was to go in, grab Masters and bail," Jacob said.

"I take it things didn't go as planned," Jack said.

"Evidentially, Morrigan didn't quite trust her people. She must have left behind a spy. We were there less than twenty-four hours before we got word that she was coming back," Jacob said.

"We had little choice but to escape before we were captured," Teal'c said.

"Without Masters," Sam reported. She turned to Hammond. "I'm sorry, sir. Morrigan's Jaffa closed ranks. There was no way to get to him."

"I'm sure you made the right decision," Hammond said. He pushed his chair back. "You all have some catching up to do. I need your mission reports within the next twenty-four hours. SG-1 is out of the mission rotation for the rest of the week, so I suggest you enjoy your time Earth side."

"George, we need to get back and report," Jacob said.

Hammond nodded. "Let the control room know whenever you're ready," he said, then turned and went into his office.

Jacob turned to Sam. "We'll keep an ear open. If Morrigan leaves again, we might be able to get Masters out."

"Thanks, Dad," she said, getting to her feet.

"Nice tan, Jack," Jacob quipped, moving past Sam to go downstairs and return to the Tok'ra, leaving the four people alone.

"So…" Jack said after a few seconds. "Anything else exciting happen?"

"No, sir," Sam said, picking up her wig and fidgeting with it a bit. "I'm going to go…change," she said, turning to leave the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Who were they?" Morrigan demanded, angrily stalking into the chamber.

"My hosts believes that they were from the Tau'ri," Mazlo said, studying his queen's mannerisms. She was angry, yes. But he could sense that she was also puzzled. As was his host. For the first time in months, he felt hope from the man. It was something he knew would fade, just as the man's resistance had faded within weeks of him taking possession of the man's body.

He sensed the host's thoughts and plunged deeper, deliberately violating his memories. "He seems to think they were members of SG-1," Mazlo said.

"Interesting," she drawled, moving to stand over him, deliberately trying to intimidate. She failed, although he manipulated his host's face to appear remorseful. He actually found it rather interesting that the Tau'ri would apparently care enough about one of their own to attempt some sort of rescue.

He would expect such behavior had he possessed a more notable member of the SGC, but not a simple soldier. His host had no special knowledge or great secrets. To take from his host's vernacular, he was nothing special.

"This could perhaps be beneficial," Morrigan said, moving to sit beside him, releasing pheromones from her host that did affect his host's body. That was how she controlled her consorts, using her host's body to keep their host's bodies satisfied. "Anubis' rewards would be great indeed if we could deliver to him members of SG-1," she said, her hands caressing his host's body.

He played along, the frolics she liked not nearly requiring his full attention. She was right, this could be most beneficial. He knew she planned to use him as bait to capture SG-1.  Her plan would not work. It would be precisely what the Tau'ri would expect. The Tau'ri were crafty, and if he planned to successfully mislead them, he needed to be far craftier.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

November 18th

Sheila Masters walked listlessly through the aisles of the grocery store, trying to summon the initiative to pluck some items from the shelves and fill her basket. She couldn't help it, nothing sounded good, and nothing looked good. The few things that looked appetizing held too many memories for her. Warren's favorite cereal, the taco chips that he'd eat by the handful, wiping the bright orange powder on his jeans, leaving stains she could never get out. The dill relish she'd have to buy to make tuna salad with, usually making two batches, one with sweet relish for her, dill relish for him. His favorite frozen pizza, how he'd pick off all the sausage, piling it on her plate in exchange for her pepperonis.

Finally giving up, she grabbed a few things and headed for the checkout. She'd just eat carry out; it was actually cheaper in the long run than trying to cook for one anyway.

Getting into the car, she spied a letter she'd received earlier that day, an invitation from Warren's mother for her to fly to Florida and spend Thanksgiving with her. They'd been originally planning to do that, Thanksgiving at his mother's and Christmas in Colorado. She'd thought about backing out, not in the mood to face the crowds at the airport. But now, now she wanted to do anything BUT be alone.

Her decision made, she felt a weight leave her. She didn't know if it was because of the thought of no longer being alone, or simply the prospect of spending Thanksgiving in the warmth and sun, but for the first time in months, she felt…okay.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Warren slowly opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling in puzzlement. It took him a few minutes to realize what was wrong. Or more accurately, right. Mazlo was asleep. He had his mind back. It wouldn't last, he knew that. The Goa'uld rarely slept for long, seeming to take great pleasure in reminding Warren as often as he could that he was there.

He heard a sigh and glanced to his side. Morrigan was there, her body barely shrouded by the sheet. That was why Mazlo was asleep. For some reason, the goa'uld had been feeling extremely amorous and they'd spent most of the last few days engaged in nearly ceaseless sex.

His mind cringed at the memory, the shame almost too much. Risking waking Mazlo, Warren raised his left hand, staring at the dull glint of his wedding ring in the dim light. He'd wanted to take it off months ago, realizing that even if he managed to make it back to the SGC he was probably dead in the 'real world'. But Mazlo wouldn't let him, instead using the ring, and the memories attached to it,  to taunt his host.

Many times over the last several months he'd fed Warren images to keep him in control. More than once, Mazlo would bid a female slave be brought forth and the goa'uld would take great pleasure in first violating the woman then murdering her…all the while manipulating Warren's mind so that his host saw not some hapless slave, but Sheila. Over and over, he watched her scream and beg, crying out in pain, begging him to let her go, to stop hurting her, then gasping her last breaths as he slowly strangled her.

Eventually, he stopped fighting Mazlo, surrendering to his fate. He was dead. That's probably what they thought back on Earth, so he might as well accept it.

Not caring if he woke Mazlo, Warren got out of  bed, grabbing a small blanket and wrapping it around his waist. Morrigan's private chambers were located on the upper floors of her palace. The room was large, as big as the whole first floor of his house on Earth. Tapestries and draperies decorated the stone walls. The floor was covered with thick animal skins and his toes instinctively curled into it as he walked. . He padded over to the window that overlooked the courtyard below. It was still dark, the courtyard shrouded in shadow, sunrise still hours away.

He stared out at the flagstones below, barely illuminated by the flickering light spilling out from the windows of the lower level. The ceilings of the lower level were high and vaulted, which meant he was a good two stories up. Two stories onto stone. Would that be enough?

Feeling the first faint stirrings of Mazlo awakening, Warren quickly made his decision. He kissed the ring on his finger, then stepped onto the window ledge. Saying a quick prayer, he leapt, desperately hoping that death would be his deliverance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

December 18th

Jack sat at the heavy oak desk, listlessly reading through back mission reports.  There were some days when he thought they should just throw in the towel and let the goa'uld win. Then bury them in paperwork. Halfway through the report on SG-13's recent check in with Juna, he got up, making his way over to the coffeemaker to get another dose of caffeine.

There was a part of him that wished he was the person in Washington instead of Hammond. Of course, from the tone of Hammond's voice the last time he'd called, it was probably a good thing he wasn't. There was no way in hell Jack would have the patience to deal with the bureaucrats like the good general did. He knew he'd be too tempted to just shoot them and practice a little foxhole diplomacy.

Which was probably why Hammond was doing his best to prevent Jack and his team from having to travel to Washington and testify.

Stretching and yawning, he looked back at the desk and the reports with a baleful eye.  He should call it a night, go find some quarters and crash. Just because he was on duty, didn't mean he needed to haunt the office, especially considering it was gone 2200 and he'd been up since 0600.

Giving into his weariness, he locked up the reports and then the office. Making his way through the darkened briefing room, he went down the stairs to the control room.

"Sergeant," he said, waving at the man to remain seated. "I'm gonna go crash in one of the VIP rooms. You can call me if anything happens," he instructed.

"Yes, sir," the woman replied, typing on the computer. "It should be a quiet night, sir. No one's scheduled to come back until tomorrow at 0700."

"Let's hope it stays that way," Jack said.

"Yes, sir," she smiled back.

Jack turned, making his way into the hall and towards the elevator. He swiped his card and impatiently tapped his foot as he waited for the car to arrive. The door opened just as the klaxons began to blare announcing an unauthorized off world activation.

Abandoning the elevator, he turned, jogging his way back to the control room. "What we got?" he demanded.

"It's SG-13, sir," the sergeant said, looking to him.

"Open it up," Jack ordered. The iris spun open and Jack watched through the window as two people came through the gate, dragging a third between them. "Get medical down there," he said, turning and hurrying down to the gate room. "Major?" he asked, hurrying towards the man. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure, sir," Major Castleman said. "We were on P3C386 and we were approached by some Tok'ra. They asked us to bring him back here, said he needed medical attention," he reported, making a face at the obviousness of his statement. 

Jack raised his eyebrows at the limp figure seemingly clad in only a tattered bit of cloth. His chest was covered in livid bruises and streaked with dried blood, as was his face. "What the hell happened?" Jack asked, stepping back as the medics moved in, taking the man from Castleman and Griff.

"We don't know, sir," Griff said. "We asked them, they just said he needed medical attention and that they'd be in touch."

"Great," Jack sighed. More Tok'ra games.

The two medics hurried from the room, their body language telling Jack that the man's condition was serious. "Sir?" Castleman said. "I left the rest of my team back on the planet."

"Yeah, go on back," Jack said. "We need anymore info, we'll call you."

"Thank you, sir," Castleman said, motioning for the sergeant to dial the gate.

Jack left the gate room, making his way to the elevators, resigning himself to putting off some sleep for several hours.

He entered the infirmary, instinctively staying clear of the flurry of activity around one of the beds. "Doc?"

Janet looked up distractedly, "It's too soon to tell, sir," she said. "What happened to him?"

"No idea. The Tok'ra handed him off to a team off world. Castleman just brought him here."

"It looks like he did ten rounds with Mike Tyson," she said. "I've got internal injuries, a broken leg and very possibly spinal injuries."

The curtain shrouding one of the beds moved and Jack watched Sam step around it, blinking sleepily.  "Carter?" he asked when she didn't say anything. He knew Fraiser had kept her under observation just in case there were any complications from Nirti's machine. She didn't respond, instead she moved a bit closer to the bed, causing one of the nurses to shoot her a dirty look. "Carter?" he asked again.

"He's blended," she said, looking up at Jack.

"What?" he asked sharply, snapping her out of her stupor.

"He's blended, sir," she said, looking up.

"Why the hell would the Tok'ra palm one of their wounded off on us?" Jack asked, reaching for the phone and ordering security to the infirmary.

"Sir?" one of the nurses said, holding up the man's left hand. Just visible under the blood was the dull glint of a wedding ring.

"Oh my god," Sam breathed.

"Masters?" Jack asked, recalling the only missing human they knew of with a snake in his head.

"Who?" Janet asked.

"SG-16, MIA since February," Jack said.

"He won't be MIA for too much longer if I don't get him into surgery," Janet said pointedly.

"They're going with you," Jack ordered, motioning the two guards closer.

"Colonel?"

"He's a goa'uld, Doc, " he said, meeting her gaze.

"Fine," she capitulated after a few seconds. "Let's go," she ordered her people. Jack and Sam stepped back to allow the medical personnel to do their job.

"I wonder if he'll make it," Sam said, running her fingers through her hair.

"Might be better if he didn't," Jack replied quietly.

"Sir?"

"It's been nine months, Carter. How much of the host do you think is left?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

January 4th

"He seems to be well on his way to making a full recovery, physically at least," Janet said, ignoring Jack's skeptical look.

"The guy's still got a snake in his head," the colonel protested.

"The symbiote is…the best way I can describe it is a persistent vegetative state," the doctor said. "It's not doing anything to aid in Masters' recovery and we haven't seen it make its presence known since he was returned to Earth."

"Can you remove it, Doctor?" Hammond asked. He, Carter, Teal'c, Jack and Doctor Fraiser were all gathered in the briefing room searching for some sort of resolution to the issue of the repatriated man. Surprisingly, the major had survived his injuries, slowly recovering in the infirmary, still under twenty-four hour guard in deference to the symbiote his head.

"Eventually, maybe, sir," she answered. "Right now Major Masters' physical condition isn't conducive to more surgery. And given what's happened in the past with Major Carter, it'd probably be best to just let nature take its course and let his body absorb the symbiote."

"Why hasn't it done it already?" Jack asked.

"It takes a while, sir," Sam said. "It took several weeks for me to….It took a while."

"And Major Carter was healthy at the time," Janet said.

"A condition Major Warren does not share," Teal'c said.

"I still don't like it," Jack said. "How do we know the snake's really dead?"

"I haven't picked up any EEG readings from the goa'uld," the doctor said. "Nothing that would indicate any sort of higher brain activity."

"It is highly unlikely that a goa'uld would go this length of time without manifesting itself," Teal'c said.

"I've talked to him a couple of times," Janet said. "He sounds normal."

"What does he remember from his captivity?" Hammond asked.

Janet shook her head. "Not much, sir. Apparently when the symbiote was in control, it blocked Masters' memories. He remembers his capture and he remembers trying to kill himself."

"That's a snake for ya', when the going gets tough, bail," Jack said bitterly.

The others fell silent for a moment, the colonel's reference to his time as a host bringing an awkward halt to the conversation. "Actually, sir," Sam eventually spoke up. "It wasn't the symbiote that did it, rather the host. According to Masters, he woke up one morning and the symbiote was asleep. He had control of his body, probably for the first time in months and he tried to end it by jumping out the window."

"Fortunately, someone rescued him," Janet said.

"Still no word from the Tok'ra?" Jack asked.

Sam shook her head. "No, sir. We know nothing about who found him or how they found out where SG-13 was, or even if they were looking for anyone in specific. It's possible they just handed him off to the first Tau'ri they found."

"The Tok'ra ranks have been greatly decimated by Anubis. It is possible that they are unable to communicate the details of Major Masters' repatriation," Teal'c said.

"It would be for the best if Major Masters retained some knowledge of his time with the goa'uld," Hammond said. "Colonel, I've just been informed that the NID wants to have Masters transferred to Groom Lake for interrogation."

"You can't, sir," Janet protested. "He's not well enough to travel."

"They think he is. And they're willing to send along their own physician to certify that fact," the general said.

"I find that level of concern not consistent with the attitudes of the NID," Teal'c said.

"They want to know what his snake knows," Jack drawled.

"I doubt he knows much, sir," Sam said. "The symbiote can block the host out entirely. They're aware of nothing that's going on. If Masters' symbiote did that to him, the last thing he may remember is being captured."

"Let's find out," Hammond said. "Colonel, Major, Teal'c, talk to him., find out what he knows. Let's see if we can find a way to keep him here." He got up, signaling an end to the briefing.

"Sir," Janet said. "About his family…"

"He's dead, Doctor. And as long as that creature is still alive inside him, he's going to stay that way," he said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

January, 13th

Warren lurched down the hall, his slow process shadowed by two armed guards. He was now allowed to leave the infirmary and travel around the base, as long as he was escorted of course. Seeing some people coming down the hall towards him, he lowered his eyes, seemingly concentrating on maneuvering the crutches on the concrete floors.  They knew, they all knew what had happened to him, what he'd become.

He could see it in their faces, how they wouldn't meet his eyes. How conversation stopped when he entered a room.

He wondered what else they knew, how much of his debriefings with SG-1 and Doctor Mackenzie were now public knowledge. He hadn't been able to tell them much, just scattered remembrances.  He remembered the creature's name and some of what had happened, but he knew he hadn't been able to tell them  enough to keep them happy.

He could see it in their faces each time they talked, O'Neill especially. They didn't trust him, probably never would again.  And especially wouldn't as long as he had this creature in his head.

"Here you go, Major," one of the guards said, standing by the door to a room.

Warren looked up, surprised to find he'd already reached  his goal. He limped into the room while the two guards took up position in the hall. "Mister Quinn?"

The alien man looked up from his books. "Major Masters, hi," he said, getting to his feet and crossing to Warren. "Come on in," he invited.

Warren made his way into the room, gratefully sinking down in one of the chairs the man pulled out for him. Quinn took his crutches and Warren stretched out his injured leg in front of him. The bone was knitting well, Doctor Fraiser said she'd be taking the cast off in a few more weeks.

The alien sat down and Warren took a second to study his surroundings. The room was cluttered and full, shelves crowded with books and various keepsakes. "So?" Quinn said, drawing his attention.

"So," Warren answered, taking a bit of pleasure in the uncomfortable look on the man's face.

"Doctor Mackenzie thought that maybe you might want to catch up on recent events," he said.

"Catch up on what?" 

Quinn shrugged. "Well, surely you're interested in what all's happened while you were…gone."

"You mean the declassified details that I'm allowed to know," Warren countered. "Or is this a crash course in who won the World Series and which TV shows got renewed?"

"We can do that if you want to," Quinn said, reaching to pull a notebook off a stack. "But actually, it's the mission reports and such from the last year. I imagine there are a lot of new faces around here, maybe you'd like to know about some of them."

Warren stared at him for a minute, then reluctantly took the notebook. "What did they tell everyone?" he asked, not meeting the man's eyes.

"What?"

"What'd they tell our families when we didn't come back?"

Quinn shrugged again. "I don't know. I wasn't here then. I can ask," he offered.

Warren shook his head. "It probably doesn't matter anyway," he said softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm dead aren't I?" Quinn frowned. "That's what they told Shelia. That I was dead." He looked at the ring on his finger, now more a mockery than a symbol of undying love.

Quinn had the grace to blush a bit. "I think so," he admitted. "At least that's what everyone around here thought until they brought you back."

"Guess that explains why she hasn't tried to call," Warren said morosely.

"Major…I…"

"It doesn't matter," Warren interrupted, opening the file. "Not anymore," he said softly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

January 28th

Warren entered the dark office, expertly balancing on the crutch to reach out and turn on the light switch. Struggling a bit with the bag in his hand, he made his way over to one of the bookcases, studying the titles. Unfortunately, Jonas' 'I've read them all, anything would be nice' didn't give him much to go on in his quest to bring the man back a book to read while he recuperated from his surgery.

They'd spent a lot of time together in the last three weeks, reading and discussing the various books in the small private library of Doctor Jackson's, or even in the larger base library.

He hadn't realized how much he'd come to depend on the man's company until SG-1 went on a mission and he'd been on his own for a couple of days.

He sighed, thinking how lucky his alien friend was. Jonas was confined to the base as well, but at least he got to go through the gate, something Warren wasn't allowed to do.

He'd tentatively discussed his situation with General Hammond. He couldn't go home, not with the creature still within him. And even if they managed to remove it, going back to his wife was still not likely, not without jeopardizing the whole program.

He didn't even think he'd be able to stay in the Air Force if he left the mountain. He'd served with too many people over the years to find a post somewhere where he wasn't known.  Basically, he was trapped here, buried alive.

He knew it was by the grace of god that he was still at the SGC. General Hammond had been honest with him, telling him about the NID and that agency's desire to gain custody of him and access to the symbiote in his head. The man also assured him that he was in no danger, not as long as he remained in the SGC and under Hammond's command.

Warren didn't know what favors the general had called in to protect him, but he had an idea that it wasn't something simple and that the man's friendship with the president was all that was keeping him safe. He'd heard rumors about the NID and how ruthless they were. More than once, he honestly wished they'd just left him to die. It would have been far easier for all involved.

He sighed, banishing his morbid thoughts. Reaching out, he grabbed a couple of books, frowning at the sight of a shelf full of notebooks. This was definitely something he hadn't read, he thought, flipping through the hand written pages.

Shoving them into the bag, he turned, making his way across the room. One of the SF's offered to carry the cumbersome bag as they escorted him to the infirmary.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

February 18th

"Well, it's about time," Jack said, more to annoy Jacob than really meaning it. He knew the Tok'ra situation was grim, he could see it in the old general's face. Jacob and the rest of the Tok'ra had been on the run for the better part of a year, their numbers decimated by attack after attack from the Goa'uld, especially Anubis.

Jacob merely rolled his eyes, well used to Jack's attitude. "If you'd have been paying attention, we left this stuff at your Alpha Site," he said, holding up a small box.

"What is it?" Sam asked, reaching out to take the box from her father.

"Symbiote removal, 101," Jacob replied, looking around the table. All four members of SG-1 plus General Hammond and Doctor Fraiser were gathered in the impromptu briefing.

"Just this?" Janet asked, leaning over to look into the box with Sam. Inside the small carved box was a bottle of reddish colored fluid and what looked to be a healing device, similar to the one the SGC itself possessed, the difference being that the stone was bluish colored instead of the orangish colored one they were used to.

"The drug is a powerful sedative, in fact it was the basis for the symbiote poison we developed. It is given to the host, usually through subterfuge. The device is a combination of healing device and the ribbon device. The sedative will hopefully prevent the symbiote from releasing the poison and killing the host. The device enables the person using it to basically exert control over the symbiote's body. This allows the practitioner to forcibly make the symbiote leave the host."

"What about Warren?" Hammond asked.

"If the symbiote is in a stuporous state like you've said, it should be simple," Jacob said.

Jack snorted softly. "Nothing with a goa'uld is ever that simple."

"I've seen no sign of the goa'uld in all the time we've spent together," Jonas said.

"His injuries didn't heal any faster than a normal human's," Janet said. "And every EEG I've done shows nothing but the slightest readings from the goa'uld."

"Should be a piece of cake, then," Jacob said. "What do you want done with the goa'uld? Presuming it survives the extraction procedure."

The humans fell silent, looking uncomfortably around the table at each other. "Well," Jack finally said. "The trick you tried with Tanith wasn't exactly a stellar success."

"The goa'uld has been in possession of Major Masters' memories for over a year. We can not allow the goa'uld to take that knowledge with him," Teal'c stated.

"That's murder," Janet said.

"Who knows what it already told Morrigan before he was rescued?" Sam said.

"I tend to agree with Teal'c on this one," Jack said.

"If the goa'uld is already the equivalent of brain-dead, this is no different than…pulling the plug? Isn't that what you call euthanasia?"

Jacob nodded. "What does Masters think?"

Jack shook his head. "We haven't told him yet."

"He knows that removing the symbiote is an option?" Selmac said, making her presence known for the first time.

"We've mentioned it to him, but…frankly this is the first time it's been a real possibility," Janet said. "Prior to now, we felt the stress of removing the symbiote might be too much with his other injuries."

"And the fact that it's dormant has given us the luxury of time," Sam said.

"I do know that he wants rid of it," Jonas said. "He's said more than once that the only way he'll ever be trusted again is if he's unblended."

"This is a question we must ask of Major Masters," Teal'c said.

Hammond nodded. "Bring Major Masters here," he ordered of one of the SF's. The man nodded, then turned and left the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Warren sat in Jonas' office, flipping through one of the notebooks. He found the handwritten journals fascinating reading. When he'd first joined the SGC, he'd been regaled with stories of SG-1's exploits, but he'd honestly thought they were just exaggerated tall tales, meant to scare new recruits.

It seemed that most of what he'd heard were vast understatements compared to what Doctor Jackson wrote. He especially enjoyed the man's stories about Abydos and the people there. It must have been fascinating to have lived there for a year. He learned so much in the time, and seemed to have spent weeks on end writing down the planet's myths and legends.

Recently, he'd found himself almost strangely compelled to read the tales, often committing them to memory. He found it amazing that these primitive people on Abydos had such wealth within their grasp, yet didn't seem to understand its value.

"Major?" He looked up. One of the SF's was standing in the doorway. "The general wants you in the briefing room," he said.

Warren nodded, getting to his feet, the notebook still clasped in his hand. He followed the man, grateful that he'd gotten his cast off last week. His leg still ached and he knew it'd be a while before he was fit for duty, whatever that duty ended up being.

They quickly made their way to the briefing room and he paused in the doorway a second before coming to attention before the table. "Major Masters, reporting as ordered."

"At ease," Hammond said. "Major, this is Jacob Carter, he represents the Tok'ra," the general said.

"Major," the older man acknowledged.

"Sir?" Warren said, trying to figure out what was going on.

"They got a way to get the snake out of your head, Masters," O'Neill said.

"What? I thought the surgery was too dangerous?"

"For us to do, yes," Fraiser said. "The Tok'ra have a better way."

Warren looked to the Tok'ra. "We're able to extract the symbiote, usually with minimal damage to the host," he explained.

"What'll happen to it?"

"The snake?" O'Neill said. "What does it matter? It'll be gone."

"The symbiote will be disposed of," Teal'c said.

Warren stood there, trying to comprehend what they were saying. They could take it out? Make him normal again. He could go back to work, maybe even leave the mountain, go outside and try to start his life again.

Maybe…maybe even see Shelia, if she hadn't forgotten him that is. He could be human again. Finally, finally after more than a year, he could be free. The one thing, the only thing he'd wanted and it was finally within his grasp.

He felt a surge of hope, the first he'd really felt since he'd been captured. He opened his mouth, to accept the offer. His heart lurched when his voice wouldn't obey what his brain was telling it to do. An all too familiar presence swarmed over him and he stood helpless before it. God, no. Not again.

In an instant Warren realized that they'd all been fooled, him most of all. The creature within him wasn't comatose, merely sleeping, pretending to be dead, biding its time until an opportunity presented itself…or the risk was too great.

His body out of his control, he could only stand witness as he spun, surprising the SF behind him. His strength augmented by the symbiote within, he pulled the rifle from the man, bringing the stock up to clip him on his chin, rendering him unconscious.

He turned back, thumbing the safety off the weapon and firing, smiling grimly as the people seated around the table all dove for cover, crying out as their bodies struck the floor.

Knowing he didn't have much time, he ran down the stairs, quickly subduing the two technicians on duty. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he dialed the stargate, using the rifle to smash the monitors as the vortex opened. Hearing pounding footsteps, he fired once again, knocking the posters from their places in the stairwell. The clutter impeded his pursuers as he ran from the control room and into the gate room, firing all the way. The few guards were caught by surprise, not expecting an attack from within. They attempted to return fire, their bullets ushering him up the ramp.

Without looking back, he jumped through the event horizon, only his captor knowing his true destination.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anubis sat upon his throne, watching as his guards escorted the battered figure before him. He was dressed as a Tau'ri, yet Anubis sensed a presence within him. "Who are you?"

The man knelt, lowering his head subserviently. "I am Mazlo, formerly consort to Morrigan."

"You are Tau'ri."

"My host was," the man said, raising his head.

"Morrigan said you betrayed her. Allied yourself with the Tok'ra," Anubis accused.

The man smiled, his pale face calm. "Morrigan is a fool," Mazlo said. "There were no Tok'ra. I allowed my host to believe he had control over his own body. I knew what he would do. He attempted to kill himself. My agents were waiting. Morrigan had received word of a group of Tau'ri on a nearby planet. My agents assumed the identity of Tok'ra agents and repatriated my host to his people."

He gained his feet, now standing before Anubis' throne. "I remained dormant for several months, allowing the foolish Tau'ri to believe that I was dead in the hopes of gaining their trust."

"And did you?"

"Yes," he said. "Although the appearance of a real Tok'ra forced me to flee before my plan was complete."

"If you failed, why do you come before me?" Anubis asked.

"Because, my lord. Even though I did not succeed in destroying the Tau'ri myself, I believe I have information that will allow a leader as great as you to attain that glory for yourself."

"What could you have that would benefit me?" Anubis asked. "I have spent the last ten thousand years gathering knowledge and weapons. There is little that I do not have."

"Yet, there is something, my lord," Mazlo said, holding up a small sheaf of bound paper. "There is a legend of an ultimate weapon, one that has been lost for many thousands of years, its parts scattered among the stars. It is called the Eye of the Gods." He opened the book and held it up. "I know where all the pieces are," he said. "Including the Eye of Ra."

His interest piqued, Anubis got up from his throne, walking towards the man. He reached out with a gloved hand and took the book from Mazlo. "This is written in a language with which I am not familiar," he said, trying to read the odd markings.

"But I am, my lord," Mazlo said, reaching out to take the book from Anubis. "It is the language of my host."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jack stomped down the ramp, knowing full well he wasn't doing a good job of keeping his frustration off his face. Useless, futile, waste of time…all the above described his most recent mission. "Nothing, General," he reported tersely, hearing Teal'c and SG-3 walk past him. "Masters just turned a 180 and gated somewhere else. He was gone before we even got there," he reported, referring to their frantic dash to attempt to stop Masters and his goa'uld from escaping.

The general nodded, wincing a bit as the movement aggravated the large bruise on his bald pate, received when he'd knocked his head soundly against the edge of the oak table while diving for cover. At least he'd fared better than Carter. When Teal'c pushed her down she'd landed on her recently injured arm. She'd come as close to passing out as Jack had seen her come in several years. Which was why only he and Teal'c had accompanied SG-3, Jonas' medical state still precluding him from gate travel as well.

The damn thing had played them all for a fool, using Masters as a Trojan horse. Vaguely Jack wondered how long he would have kept up the charade, how many months they would have had a traitor in their midst and they wouldn't even have known.

Hell, maybe they were lucky he'd shown himself now. Before this had happened he knew Hammond had been considering loosening the restraints on Masters and calling off the escorts. If that had come to pass, there would have been no limit to the damage he could have done.

Hammond sighed. "That's pretty much what we expected," the general said.

"How badly have we been compromised?" Jack asked as Sam and Jonas joined them.

"We've swept the base, sir," Sam said, she and Jonas joining them. "So far, nothing's turned up."

"If Major Masters was indeed under constant surveillance, it is highly unlikely he was able to cause any great damage," Teal'c said.

"All we've been able to determine so far, Colonel, is that one of Doctor Jackson's journals is missing," Jonas said.

"The book he brought with him to the briefing?" Jack asked, remembering seeing the notebook in Masters' hands.

"Yes, sir. He may not have even meant to take it."

"Do you know which one it was, Jonas?" Sam asked.

"Just one of Doctor Jackson's about his time on Abydos. It doesn't even have any planetary addresses in it or anything. Just notes on some of the artifacts Doctor Jackson found in the temple on Abydos and some of their myths," he reported.

"So, nothing important?" Jack asked.

"I don't think so, Colonel," Jonas answered.

"Sounds like more sentimental than strategic value to me, sir," Sam said.

Jack shrugged, taking off his cap and scratching his head. "I guess it could be worse. He could have taken something really important."

Fin


End file.
